


Every Breath

by runbravelybackward (victorienne)



Category: Homestuck, MS Paint Adventures
Genre: Aftercare, BDSM, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-18
Updated: 2012-05-18
Packaged: 2017-11-05 13:45:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victorienne/pseuds/runbravelybackward
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cross-posted from <a href="http://homesmut.livejournal.com/17313.html?thread=35060385#t35060385">this kink meme prompt</a>:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Being the submissive partner in a BDSM scene or even a 24/7 lifestyle is very mentally and emotionally challenging and even completely draining at times.<br/>So I would like to see something where the focus is on the dominant partner (OP prefers John or Dirk in the above listed pairings, but is open to Dave or Jake) giving the proper physical and emotional care after a particularly intense scene. <br/>Some bonuses would be if the characters were in an established, long term relationship already so that their aftercare has become a sort of comforting ritual in and of itself for both partners.<br/>Or, for a little less fluffy, some new experiemnt in play has gone wrong, and the usual almost ritualized aftercare won't be enough, and a bit more intensive care is needed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Breath

You watch Jake struggle to find a comfortable medium between standing on his toes to give his arms some relief and pulling against the ropes around his wrists to alleviate tension in his legs. From his breathing and the way his muscles shake a little as they flex, you can tell he's at the point where he'd consider relying too much on his wrists to keep him up. You consider releasing him now, but you know him well enough by now to know that he'd berate you if you stopped this too early. He'd ask if you thought he wasn't "man enough to take more," and you would roll your eyes at his recklessness, and he would punch you in the arm. And a punch in the arm from Jake English, even after _his_ arm just regained full circulation, was nothing to trifle with.

As you watch him, tied, gagged, and blindfolded, you recall when he first told you he wanted to be dominated. He was more flustered than you'd ever seen him--and that was saying something--and confessed that, even though he wanted it, he thought it would emasculate him or meant that he was weak. You insisted that was the furthest thing from the truth, and after some coaxing--of gentle, sharp, and pornographic varieties--he agreed to try it in practice. 

From the first time you tried anything of this kind, he revealed himself to be a strong, rebellious sub. You were hardly surprised. You both knew it was mostly for show, but you didn't mind. One of your favourite things about Jake (aside from just about everything--barring how he just throws his socks on the floor next to the bed and doesn't pick them up until there's a solid carpet of sweaty socks on his side of the bed; that you could do without) is that, despite his occasionally aggravating indecision, once he settles on one option, his will is unbreakable. You wouldn't have him any other way.

Suddenly, a slight irregularity in Jake's breathing catches your attention, and you instantly bring yourself back to the present. The strength and color start to drain from his body, and you know something's wrong. Immediately jumping up from your spot on the bed, you scramble to unfasten the gag and let it drop to the floor as you reach up to cut the ropes holding him up. As you do so, you wrap an arm around his waist to support him, and he leans against you. After cutting both ropes, he goes limp in your arms, and you pick him up and lay him down on the bed. With one arm under his legs, you elevate his legs to try and bring him out of the faint as quickly as you can. With your other hand, you check his pulse, relieved to find it irregular, but not too far off the mark. You quickly remove his blindfold and mentally prepare yourself to call 911 if he doesn't revive within a minute.

You bite your lower lip and push black curls off his sweat-drenched forehead. How could you let this happen? You were supposed to know how much he could take, You were supposed to watch him. You should have just taken the punch in the arm; it would have been so infinitely better than this that you can't even think of an equivalent metaphorical comparison.

After what seems like eternity, even though the numbers on your bedside clock seem to be frozen, Jake's eyes open slowly. His brow furrows, and he glances around in a daze. You lower his legs to rest on the bed and his hand closest to you in both of your own and press it to your lips.

"Shit, Jake, I'm so sorry."

It takes him a moment to come far enough out of his daze to realize he should respond. "Sorry for what, mate? What happened? Why are you crying?"

At his words, you realize your cheeks are damp. That would explain the lump in your throat. "I... You fainted. I should have been more careful. I'm so sorry." You press you lips to his knuckles again, your hands holding his in a vise-like grip as if waiting for him to snatch it away and vanish forever. It's hardly out of the realm of possibility.

You can see his face contort slightly as he tries to remember and piece everything together. Suddenly, his deep green eyes widen and he looks over at you, pain clear on his face. He pulls his hand out of your grasp, and you let him. Who are you to prevent him?

"Jake English in a swoon?" He gives a small, bitter laugh as he turns to look up at the ceiling. "Strider, you have every right to formulate jabs against my sudden rash of womanliness."

 You look at him, confused. "This was my fault, not yours." He looks about to protest, but you keep going. "Besides, not one of your cerulean ladies could have taken what you did anywhere near as long as you."

The hint of a smile appears on his lips, though it's still tinged with annoyance and embarrassment. "You really think so?"

"No doubt in my mind." You kiss his forehead lightly as you lay down beside him, resisting the urge to put your arms around him and put pressure on his chest by lacing your fingers with his. "You are the most stellar example of strength of which I am aware, English." You press your lips to his cheek before settling your head beside his.

He chuckles, though it still sounds a bit strained. "Why thank you, Strider! You're not too shabby yourself."

You laugh quietly next to his ear, and both of you fall silent for awhile. He shifts closer to you and turns his head to face you and rests his forehead against yours. "I'm so sorry, Jake. This never should have happened."

He brings a hand up to stroke your cheek. "It was an accident. I'll be all right, mate."

His trust and affection is overwhelming, and you curl up against him, pressing your face against his shoulder and wrapping an arm around his waist. You should be comforting him, but here he is, your boyfriend who passed out under your watch, telling you that everything would be all right. "If you hadn't woken up..."

Jake rolls over onto his side and puts his arms around you. He kisses the top of your head and strokes your hair as you bury your face in his chest. You feel every breath, every heartbeat, and you try to take in each one. "I did, though. And might I recall who said I was the strongest person he knew?"

You smile slightly. "But I'm not. I was... terrified."

You can feel him shift in surprise at your mention of your own weakness. But then, he tightens his arms around you. "I was, too. But then I felt my best mate there, and I knew you would take care of it. If you think you're going to rid yourself of me that easily, think again!"

You laugh and kiss his chest over his heartbeat before shifting to look him in the eye. "As it should be." You press your lips to his briefly, still trying to be careful as he recovers. "I love you, Jake."

He gives you an exhausted but much more Jake-like grin. "I love you, too."


End file.
